Opposite Sides (66 page)

We’ll meet
again, don’t know where, don’t know when but I know we’ll meet
again some sunny day . . .

He ignored its
implication. As the song came to its end and the voice of the
singer faded away, he stretched his shoulders and made the comment
that the table was set and ready. He pointed in a way that
indicated it was how he expected it to be: knife, fork, spoon,
plate.

“
But . . .
three?” He paused and waited for an answer but she stood before him
grinning like the Cheshire cat from
Alice
in
Wonderland. And her felt as confused as
Alice as his eyes sought her
face for any
hint. It was unbearable. He was beginning to feel tortured. “Who?
Who else is coming, Jan?” he pleaded.

“
You’ll
see.”

He felt the smile sit on
his shoulder. As he turned his head to check the fire, Jan
disappeared just like the Cheshire cat. He did a complete
one-hundred and eighty turn and there she was again. Still smiling
at him. It was infuriating.

She reached backwards and
pulled a crimson tasselled rope that was hanging from the
ceiling.

“
You’ll see
soon enough, Hans Resmel,” she laughed. “Just wait and all will be
revealed.” She sided up to him and arched her back as she stood on
tip-toe and whispered into his ear. “Curiosity killed the cat. Be
patient and enjoy the moment. Want some more wine?”

“
I haven’t
finished what’s in my glass yet.” He took another few sips as Jan
bent down and retrieved hers from the hearth.

“
To us!” she
exclaimed.

They talked about the old
days as they continued to sip their wine. Hans added a few extra
coal lumps to the fire and then turned around so that he could more
easily take in the entire room. He noted that it was larger than he
had first thought, more like a small lounge or living room, for it
had several mellow paintings and a grandmother pendulum clock on
the far wall behind the table. He listened, soaking up the
atmosphere of its quietness, the dull sound of the tick-tock and
the occasional hiss and crack from the fire. A mellow yellow glow
from the overhead light mingled with the patterns of dancing shapes
over the wallpaper as the flames flickered behind the grating. The
room was filled with a softness which even made the hard wooden
surfaces of the sideboard and table appear welcoming. It was all
very English and for once he appreciated its
familiarity.

“
I never knew
how much I missed it,” he said.

“
Missed
what?”

“
English way
of life,” he answered. “It is so strange. I felt such an outsider
when I first came to England. Now it’s almost like returning
home.”

Jan laughed. It was a
really happy laugh.

“
And you say
that standing here in that uniform!”

She touched the insignia
on his uniform. He grinned.

“
It is rather
ironic, isn’t it?”

“
So much is
these days.”

“
I think it
was ironic before, too,” he answered.

“
Well, you
were so anti-everything back then. Not at all English!”

“
I am partly.
Remember, my grandmother.”

“
I guess that
gives you a foothold. Fancy aunt knowing her!” Jan took several
large gulps from her wine glass. “Gosh, didn’t we cross words when
you were at my aunt’s?”

“
Doch
! Yes! Funny, looking back on
those times. We’re not the same. We’ve changed. Seen both the bad
and the good side of life.”

“
There’s got
to be more of the good to look forward to, don’t you
think?”

“
I hope so.
When this war’s finished and we get back our lives . . .
.”

He was about to continue
when there was a knock at the door. Jan hurried across the room and
opened it.

“
Come in.
Don’t be shy. He’s not going to eat you.”

A girl, somewhere about
fourteen or fifteen walked in. She wore a dark blue jacket and
pleated skirt and had small, black leather shoes that buckled on
one side. Her eyes caught Hans’ attention. Blue and bright, bluer
than even his own eyes. Her light brunette hair hung in soft waves
to just below her earlobes so that the up swept ends seemed to
frame her young face as if in a gentle embrace. She stood in the
doorway, clutching a small black, leather handbag close to her
breast.

Jan took the girl gently
by the hand and escorted her into the room. Hans was most eager to
know who she was.

“
This is your
daughter, Hans.” Jan let go the girl’s hand but did not move away
from her side.

“
Andrea?” He
exclaimed, his voice going up several tones. Hans was astounded for
he had forgotten how much the child would have grown since he last
saw her. And now when he looked more closely, he could see the
photograph likeness to Caroline when she had been a child. And yes,
there was something there he recognised from his own mother: the
two small dimples when she smiled. “Andrea.”

He was too amazed to say
anything more. Jan put her arm reassuringly around Andrea’s
shoulder.

“
Say hello to
your father, Andrea.” She laughed. “See, he’s quite
real.”

Politely, the girl held
out her hand. It was a reserved gesture and it shook his insides up
a little. He stood in disbelief, unsure of what to say for fear of
how she would react. It took him several minutes to gather his
thoughts together and take the girl’s hand. It was cool and
trembling.

“
Andrea!
Please . . . ”

He could feel tears of
joy welling up in his eyes and he really longed to wrap his arms
around her slim youthful body. But both actions and words failed
him. The lump stuck hard in his throat as his face muscles
tightened around his jaw. He had never felt such a strong emotion
as this before. No, never. He let her hand drop and they stood
facing each other as if eternity had no span. Andrea moved only her
eyes in Jan’s direction.

“
It’s all
right, Andrea.”

“
I’m so
sorry!” Hans blurted out as a wave of remorse surged through him.
“I didn’t mean to leave you. Believe me, I would have been a good
father to you had I been able to remain in England. Life just did
not go the way I had planned.”

“
You did not
completely abandoned Andrea,” Jan added, indicating they move
closer to the fireplace where they could sit down. “It was your
father who paid for your education, Andrea and provided money for
you to go on that holiday when you were eleven.”

“
I know.
Aunty told me.”

The girl kept her eyes on
her father but she sat down very close to Jan on the small settee,
seeking reassurance from the woman she had known all her
life.

Hans sat opposite and
noticed the way Andrea was observing him.

“
Oh dear, I
hope my uniform doesn’t frighten you. Does it?”

Andrea shook her head.
When she smiled, there were Great-grandmother’s dimples.

“
What
uniform
is
that?”
When she spoke she sounded so English.

“
It’s a
German one,” he answered. “Afrika Korps.”

“
Does that
mean you’re a Nazi?” she asked, as she raised her eyebrows and
looked as if she were staring at him. Andrea faced Jan. “Mr
Churchill says the Nazis are bad. They want to kill us.” She turned
her head back in her father’s direction. “Are you like
that?”

Hans laughed.

“
No, I’m not
a Nazi. I am just a soldier who was called up to fight for his
country.”

“
Like Uncle
Gerald?”

“
Who?”

Jan leaned forward and
spoke.

“
Don’t say
you have forgotten your English friends already, Hans Gerald!
Remember, Anne’s husband.”

“
That
Gerald,” he answered.

“
Andrea’s
known them all her life and calls him Uncle Gerald.”

“
I see. Yes,
just like Uncle Gerald.”

It felt as if he knew
them in another world; not in the crazy one that had upturned the
world that had been created now.

“
That’s all
right, then! I like Uncle Gerald. He flies aeroplanes.” Andrea
laughed. She was more relaxed and sounded more perky than before.
Jan said something quietly to Andrea and then got up and moved
away.

Hans was relieved that
his daughter accepted his uniform and was relaxed about their
meeting. With the ice broken and the formalities over, they could
sit and enjoy the warmth, taking time to get to know each other.
There were so many missing years to fill in.

“
When I knew
I was going to meet you, Aunty has told me that you were from
Germany.” Andrea screwed up her nose and half closed her eyes so
that she looked kitten-like.

“
I grew up in
Austria and in Germany,” he answered leaning back comfortably into
the softness of the well-padded armchair.

“
Did you meet
my real mother in Germany?” Andrea asked after she had had time to
digest what he had just told her.

“
No. Your
mother was English. Her name was Caroline.”

“
Real
English? From here?”

“
Yes.”

“
And your
surname is Resmel?”

“
Correct.”

A puzzled look crossed
her face.

“
But my name
is Andrea Crawford-Turner. Was that my mother’s name?”

“
No. Crawford
was your great-grandmother’s name and Turner . . . ”

“
That’s
auntie’s name. And Jan’s.” Andrea said it quite naturally as if she
had quite accepted the situation. “But am I a Resmel as
well?”

“
You are,
Andrea. One day, when the war has ended, I’ll take you to Austria
and show you where your grandmother and great-grandmother lived in
Salzburg. It’s so beautiful, there, Andrea. There are mountains and
a river: the Salzach River. Have you heard of Mozart?” The girl
looked a little puzzled.”

“
Mozart wrote
that music I played the other day,” Jan commented from the other
side of the room.

“
Oh.” Andrea
smiled. “On the piano?”

“
Yes. And he
was born in Salzburg, like your grandfather.”

“
Were you
born in Mozart’s house, too?” Andrea wanted to know.

Hans laughed. He loved
her innocence.

“
No. But I
was born not that far away, Neither am I as famous as Mozart.
Never-the-less, I’d still love to take you there.”

“
Can Jan
come, too?” Andrea twisted the handle of her bag between her
fingers. Hans looked over towards Jan who was putting things on to
the table.

“
Of course.
I’ll take you both. Look, I’ve got a photo in my jacket pocket of
me when I was a boy.” He walked over to where his uniform jacket
had been placed and unclipped one of the pockets. He pulled out a
small wallet and took out a photograph. “Would you like to see? I
was a lot younger than you are now. I am standing outside my
grandmother’s house.”

He returned to his chair
and held out the photograph for her to take. She hesitated and
looked towards Jan.

“
Do you want
to see, Jan?”

“
It’s all
right, Andrea. I will look at it later.”

Hans was beginning to
realise how close Jan was to his daughter. But then, he remembered
that Jan had told him her aunt had taken over the care of the child
when it was school holiday time and so she and Jan were the only
family she had known. Andrea handed the picture back and Hans was
just about to lead his daughter over to his jacket, when Jan
intercepted him and laid a hand on his arm.

“
Give her
time, Hans. We didn’t tell her everything, you understand. With the
war on, and all. We didn’t want the others treating her any
differently so we use to tell her that her father was fighting
overseas and had no leave. Like others in the overseas forces. Many
other children never see their fathers so for Andrea it was no
different. She needs time to adjust to all the new
information.”

“
Yes, I see.
I can see the sense in telling her that. But now that she realises
who I really am, do you think it will cause her a
problem?”

“
I don’t
think so. She’s a bright girl. She’ll be able to cope.”

“
You have no
objection to me showing her other photographs, then?”

Jan shook her head and
returned to the table. Hans walked back to Andrea. He asked for her
permission to sit next to her on the couch and began to take out
other old photographs from the wallet. He handed another to his
daughter.

“
That’s me
and that’s my brother, Uncle Renard. That’s your Uncle Axel when he
was a baby and that’s my mother, your grandmother. Father ah, your
grandfather is the man standing at the back.” He handed her
yellowing photograph of the relatives she had no knowledge of. The
photo was a smaller copy of one that had been taken in a studio
when Papi was home on leave. He was in uniform at the time. It was
the only one he had of his family and because he had carried it
with him wherever he was, it was ragged and bent at the
edges.